


you, me, calamity

by cumulonimbi



Series: shorts [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Minor Violence, currently not together baekchen but they're on the mend, promise they ARE on the mend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24036193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumulonimbi/pseuds/cumulonimbi
Summary: Jongdae works on physics homework, Baekhyun finally texts back, and the end of the world comes at an inopportune time.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen
Series: shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705198
Kudos: 23





	you, me, calamity

Jongdae has his phone, a pen case, and physics problem set in front of him when the end of the world comes. He wants to think about nothing but his homework for the next two hours; he also _knows_ how impossible that is going to be, due to a myriad of reasons that boil down to heartache. What he doesn't know is that there's a secondary force also working against him.

The first symptom of the apocalypse is surprisingly benign. No explosions, no shockwaves, only a slight terrestrial swell as the ground itself seems to inhale a breath. Just a gentle one—on the smooth wood of the cafe table, Jongdae's water bottle slides slightly downward. He stops it with a hand without looking up from his calculations. 

The floor beneath him has tilted exactly one and a half degrees higher.

His phone goes off once, twice, thrice, four, five times. Jongdae almost picks it up because there's only one person afflicted with such a bad case of serial texting—but he doesn't. There's only one person that Jongdae associates with so many message notifications at once. And there's no reason for Baekhyun to text him anymore. It's mostly Jongdae's fault, but two weeks out, it still hurts.

It'd been a stupid argument. It _is_ a stupid argument. Jongdae should've apologized first, frankly, but missed his window of opportunity due to his wounded pride. And so they haven't talked since.

A couple of days ago, Jongdae had gotten tricked pretty bad. Six notifs at the same time while midway through changing shirts—he'd nearly broken his arm in his haste to get to his cell phone, only to find two messages from Chanyeol, one from Kyungsoo, and three from a class groupchat he'd forgotten to mute. Jongdae still remembers how silly he'd felt, being hurt by message notifications. So he doesn't check.

But three more dings grind at his self-control. He puts his phone facedown, holds the power button, and almost turns it off, but can't. It buzzes again.

Jongdae recognizes the odd twang of hope rising insistently in his stomach; knows the bitter aftertaste even better. He ignores the notification and stares at his assignment with renewed determination out of spite. Gravitational motion. Rotational motion. Assuming no outside forces, how long can Jongdae be stuck in the same boy's orbit?

Two more dings. Jongdae gives up and flips his phone over. Holds his breath at the name on his screen—gapes at the words beneath it. They're in reverse chronological order and so the one that hits the hardest is right on top.

_do you still want to talk to me?_

Baekhyun's number isn't even saved in Jongdae's contact list anymore, but it doesn't matter, Jongdae has it memorized. He opens the message instantly, and then finds himself wordless when he sees all of the green bubbles on the screen. Shame and incredible relief swell inside him. Baekhyun reached out first. They're going to be okay.

But before Jongdae ever gets to type anything, the earth has decided that it has had enough time breathing in, enough time contracting its ribs. The first exhalation of old bedrock lungs splits Seoul open like a geode. Before Jongdae can respond with _i'd love that!_ or maybe _sure, of course_ or definitely not _i miss you so much I ache sometimes, like the kind of emptiness that sits in my bones and feels like concrete against my lungs every time I breathe_ , the axis of his world tilts for the second time that day, only this time, it's not one point five, but ninety degrees. This time, Jongdae doesn't miss it at all. He can't. Thrown backward by the sudden motion, he is airborne for a split second, arms and legs unable to find purchase. The world slows down in an uncountable amount of heartbeats.

Unfortunately for him, humans are not designed for flight. Time resumes violently as Jongdae's skull meets the sharp edge of a table, falling victim to the effects of a new gravity. He collapses on a pile of shattered dinnerware and what used to be the left-side wall of the cafe—his phone, newly cracked, buzzes once, twice, thrice, increasingly concerned. Caller ID displays a string of numbers and the generic background for an unknown contact.

Jongdae is not awake to check it.


End file.
